


Cush-Cush

by AVegetarianCannibal



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Cajun recipes, Comfort, Cooking, Episode: s01e08 Fromage, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Will cooks for Hannibal, friends cooking for friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-01 03:29:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AVegetarianCannibal/pseuds/AVegetarianCannibal
Summary: After Hannibal's deadly fight with Tobias Budge, Will decides to cook some comfort food.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Color-division (Romiko)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiko/gifts).



> A birthday ficlet for @color-division who hoped to see Will cooking for Hannibal, for the 1st time!

 

Will cursed himself as he stood on Hannibal's doorstep, arms laden with grocery bags. He was being presumptuous. Hannibal probably didn't even want company. He should have called first, at the very least.

He had just about talked himself into going right back to his car when the door suddenly swung open.

"I--I didn't even ring the bell," he said.

Hannibal, already in his pajamas for the night, smiled at him.

"I heard your car pull up. When you didn't ring straight away, I thought you might be dithering."

Will cringed inwardly. And a little bit outwardly.

"I was, in fact, dithering to a degree."

The smile turned into something near a grin. Hannibal looked tired, and bruised from his fight with Budge, but somehow Will felt immediately at ease when the sensible thing would have been to excuse himself and hightail it back to Wolf Trap.

"I brought food," Will said. "If you don't mind, I thought I'd make something an old neighbor used to make for me when I wasn't well."

"Mind? I'm terribly touched, Will."

Hannibal gestured for him to go in, then tried to take a bag from him.

"Enh-enh," Will scolded gently. "Leave it all to me. You just got the tar beaten out of you."

In the kitchen, Hannibal took up a seat at the island and gave his enthused permission for Will to dig around for any pots or utensils he needed.

"Am I allowed to ask what you're creating?"

"Cush-cush," Will said.

Hannibal looked uncertain. "Couscous?"

"Similar name, different thing entirely," Will said. "There's just one bad thing about it."

Hannibal adopted a very serious look. "Oh dear."

"You told me you're very careful about what you put into your body," Will said. "And this? Isn't exactly a protein scramble. It's grade-A, good old-fashioned Cajun comfort food."

Will then proceeded to make a grand mess out of Hannibal's kitchen.

He heated a cast iron skillet with a scoop of lard in it, all the while carefully avoiding looking up at Hannibal, lest he find disapproval staring back at him. Miss Roussel would just use whatever fat she had on hand---sometimes it was peanut oil, sometimes lard or bacon drippings. (Never butter, though, because that was better added at the end, she said.) Next he mixed up the cornmeal, baking powder and water the way he remembered her doing it.

"It almost looks as if you're making cornbread," Hannibal noted.

"No eggs or buttermilk," Will said. "And this doesn't go in the oven."

He risked a glance upward and saw Hannibal watching him with rapt attention.

Feeling more relaxed now, he poured the cornmeal batter into the sizzling fat, and was gratified when it immediately blossomed up the sides like the petals of some crunchy, golden flower, just as it always did for Miss Roussel.

"The first time my neighbor made this for me was when my dad stayed out all night," Will said. "She was a bit of a snoop, but in the best way possible, and knew I had to be hungry. She told me even after she had the money to make fancier foods, she always craved this old dish her grandmother made."

"Few things transport us to our childhood like food," Hannibal said. "Sometimes we long for simpler days, even if they were harder times."

Will used a spatula to scrape the crust from the bottom of the pan and fold it into the batter. Repeating this a few times ensured that all of the cornmeal mixture became crisp and golden brown with the fat.

"Now comes the really good part," he said.

He scooped large portions of the crumbly hot cornmeal into two bowls, then topped each with generous dollops of fig preserves and whole milk. At the very last moment, he pushed a pat of butter into each bowlful.

"Miss Roussel's preserves were probably better," Will said by way of preemptive apology, "but this will have to do."

His sense of ease, so recently gained, evaporated as he watched Hannibal pick up his spoon and dip it into his bowl.

"It smells lovely," Hannibal said.

A moment later, his lips closed around the spoon.

Will was holding his breath. He knew he was holding his breath, and he knew it was silly, but he couldn't not do it.

Hannibal's eyes fell closed and he licked his lips. He moaned softly.

Will felt his cheeks burning suddenly. "Good, huh?"

"Delightful," Hannibal said, eyes still closed. "Luxurious for such simple ingredients."

"I've never actually made it for anybody else," he said.

"I'm honored to be the first," Hannibal said, looking at him at last. "Worth getting the tar beaten out of me, if this is the prescribed treatment."

"Maybe next time I won't wait for such dire circumstances," Will said, shrugging. "I make a mean shrimp-and-grits."

"I'm already looking forward to it," Hannibal said.

Will finally dug into his own bowl, barely able to chew around the ridiculous smile that was spreading across his face.


End file.
